Free Bad Wolf by Nele Neuhaus Page A

stories, human drama, garnished with prominent guests—all in ninety minutes of prime time. There had never been anything like it on TV before. Success brought out the copycats, but no show with a similar focus was as popular as hers. And her media presence had a number of thoroughly lucrative side effects: She was one of the most recognizable faces on TV and was always in demand. If the money was right, she was willing to moderate gala broadcasts and award shows. She also developed ideas and concepts for other formats, and was well paid for her efforts. Ten years ago, she had founded Herzmann Productions, and she now produced the show herself.
    The flip side of her professional success was her screwed-up private life. Obviously, there was no man who could stand to play second fiddle to her fame. Meike’s words from last night shot through Hanna’s mind. Was it true? Was she really a tank running right over everyone else?
    “And what if I am?” she murmured with a trace of spite. That’s the way she was. She didn’t need a man in her life.
    At the first crossing in the woods, she decided to take the longer path and turned to the right. Her breathing was steady now and her gait looser. She had found her running rhythm and could hardly feel the pain. From experience, she knew that it would soon disappear entirely; just a couple minutes more before her body began producing the endorphins that would switch off the pain and fatigue. Now she could focus her thoughts on her problem and enjoy the nature surrounding her: the tangy smell that the forest exuded only in the early-morning hours, the springy ground, which was so much more pleasant to run on than asphalt. It was a little past seven when she reached the edge of the woods and saw the white dome of the Baha’i temple gleaming in the sun, which was already high in the sky. Although she hadn’t run recently, she wasn’t yet out of breath. She wasn’t entirely out of shape. It would take her another twenty minutes to go back through the woods to the community of weekend cabins. She was bathed in sweat as she resumed her pace, but this time it was more pleasant, real athletic sweat, not the anxious sweat of last night. And she had also figured out a strategy that she could discuss with Wolfgang at lunch. Hanna removed her earbuds and rummaged in the pocket of her jacket for her house key. As she ran past, she glanced at her car, which she hadn’t put back in the garage last night, but left parked next to Meike’s Mini.
    What was that ?
    Hanna couldn’t believe her eyes. All four tires on her black Porsche Panamera were flat! She wiped the sweat from her brow with her sleeve and went over to take a look. One flat tire could be a coincidence, but not all four. As she examined the car more closely, she saw something even worse. She stopped short. Her heart began to race, her knees went weak, and she felt tears welling up in her eyes, tears of helpless rage. Somebody had scratched a single word into the gleaming black lacquer of the hood. Just one word, brutal and unequivocal, in big sloppy letters: CUNT.
    *   *   *
    Bodenstein set a cup under the spigot of the coffee machine and pressed the button. The grinder churned, and seconds later an exquisite aroma was spreading through the tiny kitchen.
    Inka had driven him home shortly after midnight. As they were eating pizza, he’d done most of the talking, but he didn’t realize this until she dropped him off at the parking lot in front of the carriage house. After they had taken a look at the house, Inka had been more laconic than ever, and Bodenstein asked himself whether he’d said or done anything that might have made her mad. Hadn’t he adequately thanked her for picking him up at the airport and giving him a key to the house? In his euphoria over the liberated feeling with which he’d returned from Potsdam, he’d spent the whole evening talking only about himself and his mental state. That wasn’t like him